


the worst hard times

by ficfucker



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Car stealing, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Link, bonnie and clyde au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:34:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: well into the great depression, life long friends, rhett and link, come together and decide things need to change





	1. gun slingin' switcharoo

**Author's Note:**

> set some time during the early to mid 30s (probably gonna stay vague)
> 
> big thank you to @thefrenchmaidoutfit for being a wonderful beta!

“Whatever you got in here, Neal, it better be good,” Rhett says in a hushed voice, following Link out to the barn. “An’ you better be quick on it. If my pa sees you around again, we’re both gettin’ licks.” 

Link glances over his shoulder in the dark and gives Rhett a face, his lips pursing, his eyebrows furrowing. “Whatchu mean now? What yer daddy got against me all of a sudden?” Link works open the large sliding door to the McLaughlin barn with some struggle to keep the rolling hinges quiet, going slow, pushing with his knees bent. 

“He seen you an’ Cole stealin’ those birds from the Penders the other day,” Rhett mutters, clicking his tongue. They’re both too old to be run around by their fathers, well into being men, but they’re also too old to not be wed, too old not to own family business, so Rhett and Link are outliers in several aspects, swinging haphazardly between rules and traditions. 

Link stays quiet because recently, he has taken to grabbing fighting cocks from nearby towns, usually Old Enlish Bantam since their spurs grew sharp and fast, and they were small, showy roosters, easy to get ahold of by the hock. Cole was the one who had tipped Link off about cock fighting and the money it could circulate; it wasn’t too hard to convince Link, having reason to not be behind the counter of a dying feed store. He’s not proud of it himself, but he can’t tell if Rhett is or not by the way he’s phrased it. Some folks thought it was a cool thing to do: to steal and sell and get some money moving in their sad little communities. Rhett hasn’t told him to shoo off yet, so Link figures he’s fine. 

He’s all staticy, though, riled up from the anxiety of how this next step will be received. He thinks highly of Rhett, always courting one girl or another, lingering in school longer than Link could ever imagine focusing on. He thinks Rhett handsome as well, taller than any other man in the whole country, Link figures. Tall enough to be an attraction in a street show, lean with strong arms, his eyes a faded green like celery. 

Rhett reaches up once Link has pushed the door closed, pulls the string bulb on so the barn glows dim with the dirty white light that it casts. The creases of his face look harsher than usual now, the lines of his cheekbones, his brow, intimidating with the beard he’s recently started growing out, and Link has to look away. He gets down on his knees in the hay and Rhett, giving him a quizical look, does the same without question. 

“Oh, Lord, Link, what’re you ‘bout to show me?” 

Link grins, cheeky, and he reaches into the back of his britches, pulls out the little beauty he’s been dying to tell someone about for days now, and undoes it from the handkerchief he has kept it carefully folded in. He holds it flat in his palms and something electric zips through him when he hears Rhett exhale, breathe out, “Oh, golly, Lincoln Neal…” 

“.32 Colt New Police, they call this baby, Rhett,” Link explains in a whisper, his voice dewy and excited. His hands quiver holding it so he places it gentle as a baby bird into the hay and turns it over, marvels at the slender, raven black barrel as Rhett watches with wide, captivated eyes. He swipes his thumb over the butt of it, feels the funny pebbled texture. “Ain’t she pretty?”

“How in the world… did you get one of them?” 

Link beams at Rhett, pushes up his glasses. “Was workin’ in the shop when Sheriff Clark come in an’ left it sittin’ around, went out back to talk to Daddy about the-the… ya know, foreclosure that’s comin’ down on us. Said he wants to give us a hand an’ he look at me, says, ‘Goin’ to talk to your old man ‘bout cotton workin’, son, you keep an eye on this,’ and he slipped off his badge an’ holster an’ left ‘em right there next to me, and I says, ‘Yes, sir, Sheriff Clark, but I have a home delivery to the Adely family so you oughta keep ‘em on you’ an’ he jus’ told me to lock up before goin’ and I says, ‘Yes, sir,’ an’ slip the gun into that handkerchief an’ into my trousers as soon as he went out back.” 

Rhett is surprisingly silent the whole time, his eye trained on the small, sleek gun sitting between them, knelt in Rhett’s family barn, and Link starts to sweat, can feel it gathering on the nape of his neck. He and Rhett have been friends just about since birth, Rhett helping Link on the Neal property until he got old enough to help his own dad weld, work on cars for others in town. 

“It don’t got nothin’ in it, jus’ so you know,” Link adds. “Sheriff Clark only had two bullets in an’ I shook ‘em out, buried ‘em behind the house. He asked me and my daddy about it the next day an’ I told him I was gone to the Adely family, that someone must’ve come in the back door an’ seen his things sittin’ out and that was that.” Link thinks about the frantic digging he had done, how the thought was spontaneous but somehow logical in the moment, forcing the spear of his shovel head into the soft red-brown dirt and tossing the gold bullets in like glistening seeds. 

“Lemme hold it,” Rhett says.

Link fills with relief, jittery all over again, and he picks the gun up, passes it to Rhett with still-trembling fingers, and Rhett takes it, fits it nicely into his palm, turns it from side to side pointed down at the hay. His expression is solemn and curious, face taut with concentration, and Link wants praise so desperately. Their day to days are so mundane now, all work for a dollar an hour, Link’s family store closing within the week, Rhett’s arms marked from welding sparks, hungry and tired. Getting ahold of something as wild as a gun is enough to change things, Link figures, give them a small thrill, and he wants Rhett to be fired up over it, too. 

Rhett sets the gun down and makes eye contact with Link, his mouth a flat line, and Link gulps. Rhett points an index finger at the weapon where it lay in the pale yellow straw, says, firmly, “Link Neal, yer a brother to me, but I can’t get caught in this mess right now. If Sheriff Clark don’t know you done it, keep it that way, an’ keep me out of it, too. I can pardon the cock fightin’, but no more stealin’ from the law.” 

Link nearly pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his bottom lip out at Rhett like an accusation. “Oh, hush up, Rhett James, I know yer real sick of the way things have been runnin’ these last couple years, what, with all the job loss an’ the banks turnin’ away on us.” Link spits into a corner, turns back, and starts folding the gun back into its fraying handkerchief. “It’s not like I’m out to shoot anyone. Thought we could jus’ shoot at cans or somethin’.” 

Rhett stands, swats the hay off the knees of his overalls. “You can keep bein’ a kid all you want then, Link. Go on an’ shoot cans with all that free time you got.” 

With the gun all coddled back the way he likes it, Link stands, too, and slips it into the waist of his britches. “Wish I did have bullets. I’d shoot you in yer dang toe, Rhett.” 

Rhett shakes his head, and Link thinks they’re about to get into something heated when Rhett starts snickering and chuckling, his right hand curling up to the front pocket of his overalls as he wheezes. Link cracks a smile, the air between them switching to light and silly. “You  _ are _ a kid, Neal, talkin’ like that. Shoot me in the dang toe. You fool. Clumsy as a bull, anywho. I bet you can’t shoot the broad side of this barn.” 

Link gives him a little shove and once they’ve pulled themselves together, Rhett reaches up, pulls the light off, and they’re both shadowed into near total darkness. “Better get outta here and back in bed. My pa’ll have yer ass,” Rhett says in a whisper. 

Outside the barn, while Rhett pushes the door shut and puts a screwdriver between the latches to keep it closed, Link says, “Come shootin’ cans with me, Rhett. I can get ammunition easy enough, I know my dad’s still got some cases in the back storage.” 

Rhett looks defeated as they walk to his house, his hands stuffed down in the pockets of his overalls, and he turns to look at Link on the step, both their faces shadowy. “We can go shootin’, Link. Tomorrow, alright? But don’t make a thing outta this. We have more work to do than ever.” 

Link bobbles his head, grins all toothy. “Jus’ a break from the mundane.” 

Rhett creaks the back door open, steps one foot inside. “Go on now, Neal,” he whispers. “Outlaw like you will get me in trouble.” 

The door closes and Rhett goes inside, tiptoeing up the stairs to his bedroom, leaving Link alone in the dark with the promise of the next day and a stolen gun stuck in the rear of his britches. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


Link spends the larger part of the next day, a warm but decent Thursday, moving big jars of peach jam, sweeping the floors of his father’s failing town store, and rolling fat wooden barrels of cracked corn and various grains out front, marked down to lower than they’ve ever sold bulk. His daddy is in and out, being the one to take home deliveries in an attempt to talk up customers, all local families they know personally, into buying more than what they’ve ordered. Link knows, alone in the store, stacking small silver and blue cans of potted meat, his father’s efforts are futile. Children are moving back in with parents, cousins and aunts and nephews all packed into a single house, sleeping on kitchen floors, heating broth to make soup out of hard, day old cuts of meat. 

“Ain’t right,” Link mutters to himself, finishing the row of canned goods. They gleam like they’re mocking him, product he knows will not be moved much, if at all. “We’re good folk. We deserve better, don’t we?” 

The store is silent in response. 

Link is trying to figure what time his daddy will be back in if he’s out seeing the Sharp family when Cole slinks in. He offers to go grabbing birds when Link is off work, says he knows a coop three towns over has new meat hens they can snag for a pretty penny.

“Got plans for once,” Link answers firmly. He thinks about the handgun beneath his bed, nestled safely under the floorboards, wrapped in its casing, and the hairs on the nape of his neck stand rigid, excited again. 

“What plans then, ya dewdropper? Gonna sit and watch the sunset?” 

Link makes a face and says he’s got plans with Rhett, which really isn’t anything new to anyone around these parts considering Rhett and Link are nearly joined at the hip. Cole fusses a bit, lets Link know he’s missing out on a good opportunity, and Link is about to let the cat out of the bag just to see what would happen if he told someone other than Rhett he has a gun and distract Cole from rooster nabbing when his daddy walks in and smiles at the boys. 

Link leans far across the counter and says, hushed, “Ankle on out, you goose. I ain’t got time for silly things today. Find someone else to go with.” 

Cole gets the idea, but he must be deadset on those meat hens, because backing away, he mutters, “Don’t be a cake eater, Link, the town’ll talk.” 

A cold stone drops into Link's stomach, his face going flush, and he shakes his head, gives his daddy a weak smile as he passes to go to the stockroom. People have talked about Rhett and him before, murmured behind closed doors, asked the question, “How come two fellas like you don’t got gals by now?”. 

Rhett has had gals before, Brenda and Ruth and Jean Anne, but Link has never once had a girlfriend. Link hasn’t even kissed anyone besides his mother before, more interested in going fishing or cleaning the kitchen, or at least, he tells himself that. Link, like all others in that distinctly human way, knows what and who he's attracted to. He's never acted on it. He knows it’s been culminating lately. 

He shakes his head, wipes down the counter with a rag to keep his mind from getting the best of him, trying to look busy. 

His daddy tells him he’s going on another house run, and once Link is sure he’s gone down the road for good and won’t need to turn around for supplies, he sneaks into the back room and paws through the little cardboard packs of bullets they’ve got. He finds a small rectangular box full of the gleaming bullets, labeled “32 LOAD: POLICE SPECIAL” with a blue diamond. Link shoves cotton balls into the open spaces of the box so the bullets won’t clank around in his pocket, wraps the box itself in a little tear of burlap. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Link thinks about Rhett until he has to close up shop. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  


“Oh, horsefeathers!” Link shouts. If he had a hat, he’d be throwing it down and stomping on it like he’s trying to put out a fire. 

“Shoot me in the toe,” Rhett mutters, amused, when Link passes him the revolver. “Can’t even hit a can. Told ya. Can’t hit a barn neither.” Rhett turns it over in his palm before holding it up, squeezing off three times and pinging the last erect cans from their stand on the wooden fence that sections parts of the cattle fields that are now long abandoned on Link’s property. The cans clatter into the tall, yellowed grass, and Rhett grins, smug, over at Link. 

“Guess I ain’t the fella here built to bust caps, Rhett James,” Link says, his voice a half and half of admiration and sullenness. 

Rhett looks nice holding the sleek, slender weapon, the black throat of it cutting through the yellow-afternoon of the fields, his large hand curled tight around the grip, his knuckles etched and bulging. It makes Link swallow, looking at him, and he glances away, looks to the trees like there are birds there to get his attention, though he knows they’re long gone from all the ruckus they’ve been making. He gives himself a moment before turning back to Rhett, him still holding the gun, his arm lowered now, his eyes curious. 

“Whut?” Rhett asks. 

Link nearly goes red, hot around the collar. He feels like he’s just been caught looking at anatomy books in the library basement, and it confuses him, this arousal, this attraction to Rhett being strapped, and he stammers before getting out, “Jealous you got better aim than me. Regular ole sharp-eye.” 

“Maybe it’s yer cheaters,” Rhett says, smiling a big smile for the first time in a while and he reaches over, flicks Link’s glasses. “Makes sense I’m the better aim. You got them gettin’ in yer way.” 

They’re both quiet a moment and Link looks down at their shoes to keep his eyes from Rhett, before they agree to go pick up the shells. They stroll side by side down the beaten trail to the fencing, the gun tucked into Rhett’s hip, and Link feels like a looney for how attractive he finds that; the butt sticking out of Rhett’s britches, bobbing as they walk. Rhett leans down to pick up the shells, pinches them between his fingers, and once they’ve got all of them gathered up, they sit under Link’s favorite tree, their backs to the bark. 

“Gasper?” Link offers, holding out a cigarette from the carton he grabbed today. Link’s not much of a smoker, but he’s been so spooled up these last few weeks, between the cock stealing and gun nabbing and economic stress, he can’t help but indulge in a few smokes from time to time. 

“Sure. Got a spark?” Rhett takes the cigarette, their fingers brushing, and Rhett scoots a few inches closer while Link gets his lighter from his pocket, a silver Swiss. Rhett’s already got his cigarette dangling between his lips, so Link leans over, mimicking Rhett, waves the flame over both their paper wraps until it embers and smokes, their eyes focused on the red glow between them. Link’s hands shake, thinking over and over  _ This is nearly a kiss.  _

Rhett blows rings and Link watches as they waver, wisp, and disappear. 

“Rhett…” 

“Don’t say nothin’ stupid now, Link. This is the only slice of quiet I had in months.” 

Link sucks his cigarette, watches a line of ants as they exit their mound nearby his foot. “Rhett, the banks ain’t our friends.” 

Rhett sighs, blows another smoke ring. “We ain’t needa talk about this. Whatchya gonna do about it, Neal? Go up to a teller and demand ‘em they give you cash?” 

Link stays calm, keeps watching the ants in their militant march, keeps exhaling smoke from his nostrils like a dragon, not daring turn towards Rhett who is near enough to nudge with his elbow. “I ain’t say that, but so what if I think that’s the best choice? Whaddya gonna do, Rhett? Sit ‘round and let ‘em take yer land an’ life an’ house ‘till we’re really living worse off than anyone?” Link shakes his head. “We done everythin’ together, Rhett, jus’ hear me out. We already got heat.” 

“Link, I ain’t hearing you right now. I’m enjoying my fag an’ nothin’ else.”

“We got that, the Colt. I’ve done - I’ve gotten my hands on birds, what’s so much worse if I go after some wheels? We get a lift an’ we could-”

“Uh-uh, Link. Oh, Lord above, Link. Don’t you be sayin’ that to me.” 

Link tightens his jaw and plucks his cigarette out, stands, grinds it under his shoe. He keeps his back to Rhett, his head lolled back so he’s looking up at the green leaves hanging over them. “What’s the law done for us? The bank?” He turns around and looks down at Rhett, who is expressionless. “Thinka what we could do, Rhett. We-we won’t ever hurt no one. Jus’ hold that up, give ‘em a spook. No shootin’. An’  _ never _ shoot no one who ain’t already shootin’ us. You can have the gun! I ain’t no good shootin’ anyhow. You can jus’ give ‘em a jolt, shoot past an ear or sumthin’.” 

Rhett looks up at him slowly, his movement somehow acutely feline, and asks, “You been thinkin’ about this a lot, Link?” 

A flush goes over Link, embarrassed at the question, his stomach dropping like he’s been accused of blasphemy. “You know what? I have been, Rhett. I’m sick of seein’ everyone I know go hungry an’ unwashed. We drive outta here, go states over, hold folks up there. Won’t ever even face nobody we know.” 

Rhett shakes his head, his cigarette dwindled down to the butt, so he blots it on the heel of his boot until it hisses out. “Yer sayin’ you wanna rob banks. With me.”

Link nods, deadly serious, and he drops down to a squat. Him and Rhett are very close, eyes locked. “I’ll drive. You keep that Colt. We’d make a mean pair, Rhett. And glory, imagine what we could get. Fancy - fancy jodhuppers an’ suspenders, keep our families set for the future.” 

Rhett snorts, but he smiles under his beard, moustache turning up. “Sounds real romantic when you put it like that, Link.” 

The situation is so far from anything Link’s ever experienced, he’s not sure if he should be smiling too, if Rhett is agreeing or not. It feels like a joke, and yet, Link’s chest fills with a warm flicker of hope. “You foolin’ me, Rhett James?” 

Rhett stands, offers a hand out to Link, who clasps it, and standing face to face, painted orange by the glow of the setting sun far off to the left, says, “Link, we’ll talk about this tomorrow. I got work with my pa an’ I can’t be out all night, but I ain’t foolin’.” 

Link nods, swallows. “Shake on it then.” Link offers out his hand, juts it towards Rhett who looks down at it blankly for a beat before gripping him, leaning in chest to chest, and yanking Link’s arm up and down like he’s trying to pump for water. 

Rhett pulls the Colt out of his pants and holds it out to Link. “I’ll come by ‘round lunch.” 

Link takes the gun and Rhett doesn’t let go at first, connected by their separated touch. “‘Round lunch,” Link repeats, confirming. 

Rhett drops his hand from the gun and nods. 

Somewhere beyond the crown of leaves they're under, a crow shrieks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!
> 
> kudos + comments if you did! 
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


	2. asked in for a glass of milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rhett & link finally set their plans into action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to put out! hope you enjoy

Link is in the kitchen warming milk in a pot to make hot chocolate when Rhett opens the front door, the hinges squeaking, and calls out, “Link?”

“Kitchen,” Link calls back. He reaches into the back corner of one of the cabinets, gets down the yellow metal tin of cocoa powder. Everyone else is out of the house, at the store or elsewhere. He has in mind that once Rhett leaves, he’ll scrub the floors, take in the clothes from out on the line, tidy up as a kind of a silent apology for when it’s realized him and Rhett have gone missing, and why. 

Rhett comes into the kitchen, in his work boots and jumper, and leans in the doorway, watches Link as he pours milk into two identical glasses, curtains of steam rising up and fogging his glasses. Link smiles at him, taps in some of the chestnut brown powder. 

They sit in the small dining room, across from each other at the four person table, and sip their drinks without urgency. Warm midday sun cuts through the windows, draws over their chests in white streaks. It feels nice, sitting there, like Link could ignore the hard times just outside the door, forget about the foreclosure of his family business, just sit with Rhett and drink hot chocolate and not give a thought to bank robbing. It reminds him of being a youngin with Rhett, shooting marbles and watching ant hills before coming in and having a cold glass of milk to cool off. 

“I’ll go with you,” Rhett says softly, with great seriousness after a long drink from his hot chocolate, his moustache hatched with diluted brown droplets. 

Link sits up a bit straighter, his heart leaping, and tries to play it cool, keep his expressions from giving away that he has not felt relief and elation like this in years. “Go with me or operate with me?” 

Rhett raises his eyebrows as he finishes off his glass, licks his upper lip clean with a quick dart of his tongue. “Operate with you,” he confirms. “Long as we never hurt nobody an’ we always make rounds back here.”

Link nods, his eyes trained on Rhett like this is an interrogation, but without heat. He wants to get up and dance, but instead, he sits and watches Rhett. “That’s always been the idea.” 

Rhett glances out the window nearest to him, his hands folded on the smooth surface of the table. “So I’m with you on it. No hurtin’ nobody an’ gotta be keepin’ family in mind. That’s all I ask.”

“That’s why we’re doin’ it. For family, the town.”

“That’s all I ask,” Rhett repeats. 

Link smirks despite himself and gets up to gather their glasses, and headed towards the sink, he can’t help but ask, over his shoulder, “What made you change yer mind?” His voice is teasing and light because he’s sure he knows the answer to it.

Rhett says, to Link’s delight, though there is some hesitation in his tone, “Shootin’ a gun… sure felt right.” He laughs smally from the dining room. “Not sayin’ I’m ever gunna  _ use _ it, but” - he whistles - “that little Colt of yers is mighty.” 

A giggle escapes Link, can’t hold it in, because it’s so pleasing to hear, even if it comes out as an admission, guilty and shy. Images of Rhett holding up the gun and firing return to Link, shoulders squared, eyes focused on the cans off from them, and it’s not the first time he’s thought of this; the vision of Rhett holding that New Police haunting him dreamily the whole morning. He lifts one of his water buckets from where it rests on the floor, dumps half of it into the sink to wash the glasses before they stain muddy chocolate. 

“You got a plan then?” Rhett asks, unprompted, still sitting in the dining room. 

Link does. “Gonna need a ride... Mr. Adely got that sweet Ford of his. With them white walls? Glory.” Link pauses, his heart getting fast again thinking about zipping around in that V8 with Rhett in the seat across from him, the body a gleaming cherry red, accented with golden stripes and big swooping side mounts, kicking up plumes of dirt dust behind them as they go. “Wait ‘till he wants another house run an’ I take my Daddy’s truck down. Mr.s Adely always asks me in for a milk an’ I seen where they keep the keys: in a little glass dish on the table.”

“Oh Lord, Link,” Rhett groans. “The  _ Adely’s _ of all folks?” 

Link turns around, leans on the counter to give Rhett a look. “They’re the only folk in 40 miles who got a V8! We won’t hurt it none. We could take Daddy’s Ford, but it ain’t as fast.” That part is true, Link knows his father’s 1928 doesn’t compare to a brand new V8, but it somehow feels dirtier to steal from family. Even dirtier than taking a gun from an officer. 

Rhett blows air out of his mouth, scratches at his beard, starting to look antsy over the topic. “Fine. So then whut? We jus’ show up at the Adely’s an’ you go in an’ say ‘Thank you kindly for the milk, Mrs. Adely, I gotta go steal your car for a criminal spree?’” 

If Link had any nerve about him, he’d call Rhett “beautiful and dumb”, but he pushes the thought away, and explains: “I pocket the keys when I get the chance. Go back outside, take Daddy’s truck to the store as always. We come back at night, on foot, an’ take it then.” 

“Dandy plan if it works out that smooth.” 

“It’ll work, Rhett.” 

Rhett makes a noise, says, “Always an if.” 

Link nods, twists a rag in his hands over and over until the tail is coiled like a drill bit. He’s not going to put all his cards on the table with Rhett right now, knows it’ll scare Rhett running if he does, so to the extent of Rhett’s concern, that’s as far ahead as Link has figured to think. 

“Well, I gotta get back.” Rhett stands, enters the kitchen. He stands there a moment, in his dirty jumper, his eyes tired, just looking at Link, and Link pretends to be deeply interested in the suds swirling circles in the bucket by his feet. Link follows him to the front door, and in the frame, Rhett claps a hand over Link’s shoulder, and says quietly as he brushes by, “Let me know when.” 

Rhett is already out in the yard, about ready to leave when Link calls out, “Tomorrow I reckon! Come by the shop tomorrow!” 

Over his shoulder, Rhett nods, smiles. 

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Link gets a call from the Adely family at 3:40 in the afternoon. Rhett has been bumming around the shop since early noon, straightening the jam jars and sweeping the bare wood floors, smiling at Link’s daddy whenever he comes in or goes out. Rhett being around doesn’t raise any alarms, but he’s a poor liar, Link’s noticed. He smiles too big, his apple cheeks puffing, talks too quick whenever someone asks him how he’s been fairing. Even with all those tells, the day flows smooth. 

“Yes, sir, Mr. Adely. I’ll be down right away,” Link says before putting the phone down and turning back to Rhett, grinning ear to ear. Rhett has perked up, too, a smile creeping onto his face. 

“Got a house call from the Adely family!” Link calls to his daddy, who is out front, talking to a man in a slick grey suit and matching grey slouch hat, a man Link has never seen before. 

The keys jingle in Link’s palm, both him and Rhett beating feet out around the shop, laughing wildly as they sling into the truck, Rhett grinning wide and big, a burlap sack of groceries in his lap. The truck sputters to life, gives a cough, and Link kicks gravel as he pulls out, giving more heat than he would ever normally dare, and Rhett hoots from beside him. 

“Already havin’ more fun than you ever had an’ the fun ain’t even started yet!” Link shouts from over the whipping wind as they go through town. 

“Hush down, Neal, I jus’ ain’ had a truck ride in a blue moon!” Rhett shouts back. 

Link turns left, takes the back roads to the Adely house, which is outside of town, outside of the dirt neighborhoods which are quickly being consumed by cement and empty lots. Mr. Adely was smart enough and well off enough in his youth to get stakes in before the depression hit, holding ownership over newspapers and the type of new fancy stores that are driving the Neal family out of business; stores that have big ice boxes and long glass windows to showcase all the wares inside. And the Adely house reflects the success: a giant white plantation style home with a great green lawn, Mr. Adely’s prized V8 always parked out front, shining like the reflective shell of a beetle in the sun. 

Deep inside, Link thinks, shuddering down an unpaved road, it will feel devilishly good to steal from someone well off, even folks he’s known since birth. It’s getting back at them, somehow. The idea scares and delights Link, thinking that folks could deserve theft just for having things to take. It makes him feel guilty, too, because despite owning parts of retail, the Adely’s have always insisted on buying from the Neal’s, taking home calls, insisting their canned goods were uniquely better than all else. The thoughts buzz around Link like wasps, and he tries to swat them down, keep them away as he pulls into the Adely drive and kills the truck. 

“You can come in, if you’d like. You know Mrs. Adely ain’t got nothin’ against you,” Link says, taking the sack that Rhett passes to him. 

Rhett pulls a face, shakes his head. “I’d rather sit out here and sweat. You know Ruth ain’t - she don’t want me ‘round even if her mama thinks I’m swell.” 

Link shrugs. He only knows secondhand what courting and breaking up means, and Ruth has never mentioned Rhett (nicely or otherwise) in all the times Link has come in for milk, so to him, it’s a foolish notion, avoiding someone just because you had kissed and necked at 14. “Well, suit yerself. Sit out an’ sweat here.” 

Mrs. Adely is already on the porch, smiling her big plastic smile at Link, and as he comes up the steps, she asks, like clockwork, “Why don’t you come in for a glass of milk, Charles?” Her hair is the color of yellow, crisped potatoes, her hands clasped in front of her red polkadot dress.

Link smiles, wipes his brow with the back of his hand, and says, “That’d be a real treat, Mrs. Adely. Thank you kindly.”

“Got that Rhett with you?” 

Link steps into the house, still holding the burlap in his arms like a very lumpy toddler, says, “Yes, ma’am. He was helpin’ around the store an’ wanted to come along for a drive. Don’t get that too often, you know.” 

Mrs. Adely nods and smiles brighter, taking out a milk bottle from the ice box to pour for Link. “You tell him he’s welcome in?”

“Oh. Yes, ma’am.” Link’s eyes dart to the table, sees the key to the V8 glinting in its glass basin. “He’s got - his stomach ain’t feel tops today, says he doesn’t wanna come in an’ be sick around you all.” 

Mrs. Adely clicks her tongue and comes over to Link, trades the sack for a tall glass of milk, and beckons Link into the dining room, prompts him to sit in a chair. “Well, you tell him he’s welcome in, sick an’ all. Glass of milk will do a stomach good.”

Link takes a big sip, licks the thick cream off his upper lip. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Tall as weed now, I bet.”

Link trails his fingers over the top of the table, hooks his index and middle into the glass dish, which is cold and smooth, touches one of the small teeth of the key. “Tall and lean. Bet he wouldn’t even fit in the door without knockin’ his head.”

Mrs. Adely chuckles from wherever she is in the kitchen, putting away the delivery, probably knelt on the floor to stack cans in a low cupboard. 

Link leans forward across the table and snatches the key, the head of it stamped with FORD on one side, and slips it into the front pocket of his trousers. He sits back, heart hammering, and finishes off his glass. He sits a moment longer, fingering at the key in his pocket while his pulse thunders through his veins, and finally stands, brings the glass into the kitchen where Mrs. Adely is. “Thank you for the milk, Mrs. Adely. Always refreshin’ in this heat,” he says softly. He feels like he’s talking to a school teacher. 

She takes the empty glass, places it gingerly in the sink, and beams at Link, squeezes his shoulder. “Of course, Charles, you know you’re welcome here anytime you want. An’ milk does a boy like you good, makes for strong bones.” 

Link says his goodbye, eager to be out of the house for the first time ever, usually lingering around and talking some, but he trots down the steps, and bulges his eyes at Rhett, grinning like a feral man baring teeth, swings himself into his Daddy’s truck. “Got it,” he whispers, voice electric, and Rhett looks a mix of stunned and jittery. 

“Oh, gosh,” Rhett breathes, and he reaches over, gives Link’s wrist a squeeze. Link realizes then how often people are touching on him and it’s a good realization, Link likes the gestures, but feeling Rhett on him makes his heart swell like dough rising. 

They’re both weirdly quiet, sweat rolling down their noses in fat drops, air between them hot as Rhett rakes his eyes over Link, uncertain but clearly wired. “Everything Jake?”

Link nods, twists the key in the ignition. “Swell. Just uh, it’s real now, Rhett.”

They’re pulling out of the Adley’s driveway, wheels about to crunch gravel when Rhett says, softly, “It always been real, Link.”

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


“You got all you need?” Link asks in a whisper. 

Rhett paws through the leather bag a second time, checks over what they’ve packed: a stack of All American matches, two cans of tomato soup, a tin of sardines, two bottles of Cola, a thick green blanket folded into the bottom of the bag, a can opener, a bottle opener, Link’s good lighter, a fresh case of bullets, and a new carton of cigarettes, just in case they ever want to smoke. “Reckon so.”

“Better start leggin’ then.” 

Rhett nods, gets to his feet. He swings the bag over his shoulder and snuffs out the lantern they’ve had burning in Link’s bedroom. In the dark, Rhett asks, “You got the…?”

Link pats his hip and says, “Heat’s on me.” He reaches into his pocket, holds up the little silver key to the V8, and it catches the moon light that shines white through the window. 

With Link leading, they sneak down the steps and out the back door, circle around the house to the street, and start their long walk in the dark. Rhett tails Link, backpack slap-jangling against him, and Link’s heart keeps leaping, thinking of freedom and open roads and laughing open-mouthed with Rhett in the passenger seat. It makes his fingers tingle, face warm. Him and Rhett have been friends for so long, they’ve both shared the childish fantasy of running away together, being regular Davy Crockett’s and backwood legends. Now it seems it’s becoming a reality. 

At the edge of the property, Mr. Adely’s ‘34 Ford gleams like a ruby, still parked outside the great, white house that looms behind the car like a sleeping goliath, not a single light or candle lit in the windows. 

“Fixed to go?” Link whispers, still haunting the yard. Neither one of them have stepped onto the long swath of green grass spread out in front of them, side by side. 

“Ready as you are, Link,” Rhett whispers back, his voice a shade nervous. 

“Alright then. We best go fast.” He looks over at Rhett and Rhett looks down at him, and they nod once before they’re off: dashing through the neatly trimmed grass as fast as their lanky bodies can go, skidding to a stop at the doors of the V8, Rhett swinging around the side to swing it open and jump in passenger. 

Link fumbles getting the key out, hands stuttering even worse as he tries for the ignition, missing twice before plunging the little silver piece into its receiver, and he takes a deep breath before twisting it. The engine roars to life, loud and purring, and beside him, Rhett lets out a whoop, his face a wild, unleashed grin, eyes crinkled near shut. Link clicks the headlights on, adjusts himself in his seat to make sure he can reach all he needs while he drives. 

A light snaps on the house and shadowed figures inside move. 

“Golly, Link! Go!  _ Go _ !” Rhett shouts, slapping his hands on the white vinyl seat with urgency. 

Link grabs the black, pizza-crust thin wheel, shoulders squared and knuckles pale, and mashes the gas, zooming them backwards, and Rhett shouts something again, incoherent to Link as he panics and drops his left hand down to the long shifter between them. He yanks it and gears grind under his force. He hits the gas again and they shudder forward, Link using much less pressure than his first go, chugging in awkward jerks as he taps the pedal. 

“Hey, you fellas!” Mr. Adely calls from the porch, stomping down the steps in his long underwear, and Link freezes over with panic again, assuming he’s got a gun. They’re easy enough to get. If Link hadn’t stolen from the Sheriff, he could’ve gone to any street corner and gotten a Tommy, no questions asked. 

“Grab the Colt!” Link yelps, spinning the wheel wildly under his hands, jutting his hip out in Rhett’s direction for him to take it. 

“I ain’t  _ shootin’ _ Mr. Adely! Are you  _ foolin’ _ me, Link!” Rhett’s voice is alarmed and hysterical. 

“Rhett, take the Colt, good golly!” They’ve started down the drive, but Mr. Adely’s voice isn’t so far off and Link’s worried if he really tries to hit it, they’ll overwork the motor and stall, like his Daddy’s truck acts. “You ain’t gotta - don’t  _ shoot _ him! Jus’ give him a scare!” 

Rhett’s hand palms Link’s thigh, moves up to get the Colt from his britches and he pulls it out, points it out the window, whole upper half of his body outside the Ford to turn around and aim at Mr. Adely. “Don’t you come no more closer!” Rhett shouts, voice dropped deep, and even to Link, he sounds scary. 

Mr. Adely yells something back, becoming more distant, and Link grows confident in the strong V8, smashes his foot down on the gas and they whip out of the yard, making a sharp turn onto the unpaved street, precise and skidding up rocks, and Rhett hollers, head still stuck out the window, face whipped with air.

“We done it! We done it!” Link cries, his heart hammering so hard, he’s scared he’s truly going to suffer a heart attack right there behind the wheel, but he feels free and excited, too, heated from Rhett accidentally groping him the way he did, rough and erratic. 

Rhett slinks back into the cab and slaps a celebratory hand on Link’s shoulder, jostles him a bit. “Free men,” he says. 

“Free as the wind, jus’ you an’ me, Rhett James!” Link shouts out his window into the darkness and Rhett laughs, sticks the gun into his trousers the way Link had it in his own. 

They streak down the long, flat roads that lead out of town in a glistening red blur and behind them, big curtains of tan, powdery dust sweep away, like a storm brewing in their wake. Rhett whistles some jolly tune to himself, the wind loud and almost cuttingly cold in the night, and after some while, Rhett digs out a carton of smokes, sticks one in his mouth then in Link’s, and they light up using Link’s Swiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> car described is based off a 1934 Ford V8 
> 
> don't forget to kudos + comment! 
> 
> talk to me on tmblr @ficfucker


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